A patch of bluets that escaped the mower. As all matter unfolds. Who is writing? You see.
Memory is not romantic. Ideas are. A handful of bluets shifting in a light breeze after mowing. If you can get close, you can hear them too.
I am saying that and not this which means now I am. You do see, and hear as well, and the bluets are all of that. Yet not here in the poem. Though perhaps - helpfully - in your mind as you read it.
Thus this. The bluets remembered following a walk last week down Sam Hill Road, the dog tugging at the leash, and the kids rolling crabapples like bowling balls along the uneven macadam. Like that.
Nothing escapes just as nothing mows. Yet something does capture - or memorialize - and it does not capture or memorialize everything. Is that what I am saying? When I meant to say - as I am only now remembering - forget-me-nots.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Forever In A State Of Motion
One struggles one does. My art is your old shoe, patiently biding its banishment. You see, the idea of reading Deleuze is attractive - very much so - and yet the act of it makes one dizzy to the point of stupid. Let's be honest, yes? Four blades of grass fumbled with the dry soil until a passing thunderstorm lent them a necessary grace.
Much-needed? The tomatoes pulled at the vines reminding one that life is forever in a state of motion. Decisions are never called for! I looked all night for the moon - that lovely unfolding assurance - and saw instead a blurred gray, or perhaps sensed the blurred gray. He wrote as if perpetually on "the edge of darkness."
A time never comes. The dog's tail curled up revealing soft blond hair underneath, the only detail that separated her from the coyotes whose fate was ever at risk. I meant to say something about a pendulum. Unicycle? God is not the site of choice.
At last the young woman signed up for vocal lessons and so her fate was sealed. The cards dealt? It is only a struggle if we insist on playing the central role! You wake up and the birds are singing and what did you do? We open windows, we oil the gate, we pluck the fruit and compose a bright salad.
Much-needed? The tomatoes pulled at the vines reminding one that life is forever in a state of motion. Decisions are never called for! I looked all night for the moon - that lovely unfolding assurance - and saw instead a blurred gray, or perhaps sensed the blurred gray. He wrote as if perpetually on "the edge of darkness."
A time never comes. The dog's tail curled up revealing soft blond hair underneath, the only detail that separated her from the coyotes whose fate was ever at risk. I meant to say something about a pendulum. Unicycle? God is not the site of choice.
At last the young woman signed up for vocal lessons and so her fate was sealed. The cards dealt? It is only a struggle if we insist on playing the central role! You wake up and the birds are singing and what did you do? We open windows, we oil the gate, we pluck the fruit and compose a bright salad.
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